Friday, January 21, 2011

I listen to weird stuff;
Stuff that kids who do drugs like.
Angular beats and melodies,
With lyrics that flow
Like prose, hardly repeating.
Synthesized sounds, mathematically
Mapped, and tweaked to a timbre.

We're not after mass appeal,
Escape is what we seek;
To: a new world based
In music, with its own
Systems set
For analysis
Although few, we appreciate
New additions to our cult.
Red sparrow
On a sound wave
Through the snow.

Velocity achieved, the
Bird begins to cork-

Tones ululate to
The rhythm
Of the wingspan

The bird's song

Here it comes.
Listen as it goes,
In nature's avian
Orchestra hall.

Friday, January 7, 2011

Water drops drip, thud! in a bucket positioned to collect under  a crack caused by ice formed on the rooftop. It's a stark reminder, shelling the delusion that the shelters, which we've built to protect from the elements, are permanent. Eventually everything disappears, unrecognizable, subjected to  the past of our future. What we can do now is hold on tight. Grasp everything that comes our way, and never let go. Hold the moment tender. Remember what is enjoyed, as well as what you did not. Resistance to our hold should be acknowledged. Turn you head, shielding your gaze from your reluctant actions.